The Battle for Hart's Pass

Summary: Young blacksmith turned Soldier, Ardal of the Avinn Vale, enters the crucible of combat and learns to savor the Honor that grows in men who sacrifice all they are in the service of all that they love.

Honor, Brother

Among the men of Taermun was a cartwright named Ivor who
had two sons. The older, Alistair apprenticed to his father. Ivor apprenticed
the younger, Ardal, to the doughty smith who had no sons of his own. The
brothers differed in many respects. Alistair had a taste for mutton and an
appreciation for good, stout walls. Ardal preferred venison and broad perspectives.
Alistair mastered his trade and left Ivor’s house to build his own. Ardal
mastered his trade and left Ivor’s house to wield a sword in the service of the
High King.

On a day
of days, when he was a stripling of a lad and a freshly minted soldier with his
eye set on glory, Ardal was assigned to a small unit at a small outpost on a
small plain reached by a narrow pass
between two large mountains on the southern end of the western frontier. It was
called, “Stonebreak Pass.” Of course, now it has another name.

Very little happened for a very long time. Then, a great
deal happened in a very short time. Being a fully apprenticed blacksmith thanks
to his father, and being a curious lad
thanks to his mother, and being bored senseless thanks to the remote location
of the outpost, Ardal began to hang about the armory workshop. You see, there was
naught else to do other than the endless rotation of patrols and standing watch
on the wall.

By the time he’d been at Stonebreak long enough to begin to
believe that boredom would kill him long before an enemy blade, he’d earned his
ratings as a bladesmith and as an armorer to boot. Soon, the standard repair of
armor and weapons wasn’t interesting enough for him. He began to play with
ideas for improving the stuff. Most of his ideas were useless in the long run,
but he learned quite a bit from the process.

Anyhow, this day of days began early enough with Cian,
Leader of the Thirty of Light Footmen, rousting his men to prepare them for a
patrol at first light. Their mission was to secure the pass to allow the Thirty
of Horse to search for the supply wains they’d expected since three days
before.

Elgin, Thirty Captain of the Light Footmen, inspected his
unit then told Cian to send a lad to the gatemaster to request that he open the
gate. Cian sent Ardal who mounted the ladder beside the gate and made for the
gatemaster’s lookout in the gray dawn light.

As he walked the wall and looked out across the plain, he
imagined dark shapes darting about in the thick mist. ‘We’re bein’ watched,’
said Moreley the lookout. As though his words had conjured them, they appeared whooping and
leaping through the mists like foul spirits come to take the defenders' souls rather
than just men intent on slicing them open.

Something flew between them, and
ripped out Moreley’s throat.

Ardal jumped from the wall and hit the ground rolling in
front of Cian who was on his way up. Cian pulled Ardal to his feet, shoved him toward
the ladder, and shouted for him to climb.

It was fortunate for all on the post that the invaders struck just
when they did with a third of the strength of the caer on the wall and another
third standing ready to fight. If they had assaulted after the gates had been
opened for the patrol, it would have been the worse for all of Tierasal.

After three days’ chaos and pain, the Dearthmen pulled back
into the high ground surrounding the plain and shouted threats and taunts at the
defenders hoping to draw them out from behind their walls. What they didn’t
expect was that they would come out like they did.

Cian sent word to Ardal through Ekurn, his Ten Leader, that he
was to meet Thirty Captain Elgin outside the Hundred Captain’s Seat. He ran by
the horse trough to wash his face on the way. When he arrived, he found Elgin leaning
against the corner of the Seat and his helmet under his arm tapping the toe of
his right boot against the ground.

Ardal jogged over to his Thirty Captain and nodded sharply
in salute. Elgin returned the nod. “Your Ten Leader claims you can write and accuses
you of being smarter than you seem.”

Ardal acknowledged that he could write at any rate and
asked how he might be of service. His Captain asked if he’d be willing to take
notes for a meeting of the captains so they could focus on working out a
strategy. Ardal said he’d do his best, and they went in together. Elgin pulled
out a chair and told Ardal to sit down. He left for a few minutes and returned
with some writing supplies and a cup of tea.

The Hundred Captain, Elgin’s commander, came in a few
minutes later trailing his orderly. “Initiate final inspection on Horse as soon
as they are assembled. I will be out shortly to conduct spot checks.” The
orderly nodded curtly and almost broke down the door on his way out.

Hundred Captain Hart scanned the room, taking the measure
of each man. Each Thirty Captain or, in this context, each ‘Thirty’ sat at the
table except Elgin who stood behind Ardal. When Hart’s eye met Ardal’s, he
nodded then raised his gaze to engage Elgin behind him. Then he took in the
Gatemaster, the Armorer, and the Quartermaster who had also come. “Welcome,
Swordbrothers. Begin.”

Each of the assembled leaders reported his unit's or
section’s situation in as few words as possible. Beginning with the Mounted
Thirty, then the Heavy Footmen Thirty, and finally the Light Footmen Thirty,
they rapidly and clearly informed all present of their strength, capabilities
and any issues which might interfere with their ability to fight. It became
apparent that the seemingly informal meeting was being conducted according to
an established protocol. Ardal recorded everything even when it seemed
unimportant.

Upon receiving all the reports, Hart waited for Ardal to complete
the sentence he was writing. “Check on your Thirties. Meet back here in half an
hour prepared to brief changes and to receive orders.” The meeting rapidly
dispersed.

Hart looked to Ardal then to Elgin while he addressed Ardal,
“Give me your notes, and bring us some tea.” Elgin nodded curtly signifying
that he understood that Hart was telling him to leave Ardal with him. A moment
later, Elgin strode out to meet Cian while Ardal went to see the cooks.

When he returned, he set Hart’s tea on the table within his
reach then turned to walk to the far side of the room. “Soldier,” Hart spoke quietly.

“Hundred Captain?” Ardal turned to look at him.

“Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“My apologies, Captain.”

“Your observations, however, are excellent.”

“My thanks, Captain.” Ardal nodded.

“No, no. I thank you. Relax. It will be your last chance
for a while.”

“Yes, Captain.” Ardal returned to the chair where
Elgin had placed him.

The Hundred sat intent on Ardal’s notes and on his thoughts
for a long while. Occasionally, he added notes of his own to Ardal’s. Then
without lifting his eyes from the pages, he asked in a distracted tone, ‘Your
name, Soldier?’

“Ardal, my Captain,” he replied, adding, “of the Avinn
Vale,” as though it would matter to him. He nodded, made notes, and continued
reading. The room began to fill again, and Hart sent Ardal to find more paper
so he could continue taking notes.

The assembled leaders went through a rapid version of the
previous meeting merely updating the previous reports. When it came Elgin’s
turn, he reported, “No change except that one of my best sword arms now serves
a pen.”

A chuckle went around the room, and Ardal’s face turned red.
Hart smiled. “Happens to the best of us, Elgin. Won’t be long before you live
in an office and see more paper than any decent man should ever see.”

Glendon, Captain
of the Mounted Thirty appeared shocked. “Did the
Captain just call Elgin ‘decent?’’

Hugh, Thirty Captain of Heavy Footmen shook his head. “That
can’t be right. Have the scribe read it back.”

Ardal took a breath to read from his notes back, but Elgin
cut him off. “I curse the day you see me behind a desk, Captain.”

The Hundred replied levelly. “Elgin, you curse every day.”

Raucous laughter broke out and shattered the severity that
had previously pervaded the room; then, the leaders settled into their
business. Hart stated the situation clearly for his Captains of Thirty. “Gentlemen
and Elgin, I am not lying when I say that today will be rife with opportunities
for you and your men to earn everlasting glory. The Dearthmen hold the pass. We
are near a week past the anticipated arrival of our supplies. I expect no one
to come this way from the Three Hundred until they realize in another day or so
that the supply wains they sent us did not return to them. Were we to wait on
them, none would remain to tell them how the rest of us earned everlasting
glory.

“Now, we might hope that the supply trains turned back and
so returned with word of the Dearthmen in the pass. In that case, we could
expect help at any moment. There’s a problem with that plan, however, and that
is that…”

“Hope is not a method,’ quoted the Thirties in unison like
schoolboys. Apparently, it was something they had heard the Hundred say on more
than a few occasions.

Hart nodded. “Right, but there are methods we might employ
based on the safe assumption that we are on our own for a while longer. I
believe that our best option lies in a rapid, aggressive assault coupled with
an effective deception plan and supported by archery from the battlements. The
problem with this idea is that there is no flexibility. We have no reserve force.
We do it once; we do it right; we do it rapidly; or we fail and earn
everlasting glory.

“Horse will ride out at a full gallop.” He looked to
Glendon, Captain of the Mounted Thirty. “You must give every indication that
your only thought is to escape the pass and go for reinforcements.”

Hart fixed Glendon with his intense gaze. “Glen, I am well aware that the restricted terrain within the pass
will not allow you to maintain a gallop once you cross the plain. You will fly
out of the gates headed straight for the trailhead, enter the pass and move as
rapidly as you can down the trail without allowing the enemy to draw you into a
fight. Just move, move, move. This is our deception plan.”

He held Glendon’s eye until he indicated his understanding
with a nod.

“The purpose of the deception is to draw them into the open
so we can slaughter them. A smoke arrow will signal you to turn like the tide
and smash the enemy repeatedly against the rock formed by the phalanx of the
Heavy Thirty.

“They will pursue Horse with the majority of their force
leaving a small element behind to watch the gates. At the signal for Horse to
turn, Elgin, rope down the southeast corner of the battlements and use the
streambed to cover your movement. From there, move rapidly into the surrounding
high ground. Your purpose is to locate the commander and his support personnel
who will likely be among the stay-behind force.

“You must destroy their leadership as rapidly as possible.
Once that is done, they cannot long sustain the attack. Until this is
accomplished, yours is the primary mission. A smoke arrow will signal mission
accomplished. Fire it as you fight your way down to join us on the plain.

Hart addressed the Captain of the Heavy Foot Thirty. “Hugh
Mor, I have this insane notion that you might form
your unit into a new terrain feature in the center of the plain against which
Horse may drive the enemy to crush them repeatedly until there is naught left
of them but the stench of their fear.”

“Aye, Captain, it does seem the mission we were made for.
We’ll head out when Horse enters the pass?”

“That’s it.” Hart’s grim satisfaction was evident in
his tight smile and terse nod. “Though you are buried in bodies and drowned in
blood, you must not move. Fix the enemy in the center of the plain to allow
Horse to maneuver against them repeatedly. You grab them by the throat, Light
will decapitate them, and Horse will bash them to bits. All hinges on you.”

“We will stand,
Captain.” Hugh spoke simply as though he were informing the Hundred of his
intent to take a walk.

“That,
Gentlemen, is the plan.” Hart looked around the room and received
nods of understanding from each of the assembled leaders.

“I will ride
with Horse if they will have me.” He glanced toward Glendon.

The Horseman nodded
curtly, “My honor, Captain.”

Certain now that
the captains of his fighting units understood their missions, Hart instructed the
leaders of the support sections to harry the enemy from the battlements and to
open the gates of the caer if necessary.

“Any questions, Lads?”
Hart met the eye of each man; then, he dismissed them. “Go in the strength of
your brothers and quit you like men. I will meet you on the plain or in eternal
glory. Horse rides within the half hour.”

The leaders rose
to rejoin their units, and the Hundred stretched out his hand. “Ardal of the
Avinn Vale.” Ardal placed his notes into the Hundred’s hand. Hart thanked him,
laid the notes onto the table and extended his hand again. Ardal grasped his
forearm and the Captain returned the gesture. “Ardal, it is my honor to fight
alongside you, Brother.”

“The honor,
Captain, is all mine.” The next time he saw Hart, Ardal discovered what honor looks
like.

Ardal watched Horse ride out; then, he roped down from the
battlements with Light. They separated into Tens and moved through the high
ground hunting the enemy commander’s Seat hidden among the rocks and draws. Elgin
moved with Ekurn, Ardal’s Ten Leader, as they picked their way through gorse,
stones and defiles toward the point of convergence for the Tens’ designated search
patterns. Elgin had previously identified a particular high meadow as the most
likely location for an encampment. A field of springs filled a small pool that
ran off to a waterfall at its lower end. Rather than approach from the lightly
wooded gentle southern slope, Elgin led his swordbrothers to climb the narrow,
treacherous defile under the waterfall to the east of the meadow.

As he reached the top of the climb, Elgin slipped over
behind a sentry who was watching the southern approach. He caught the sentry
from behind and hefted him over the waterfall. Ardal watched the Dearthman
bounce down the ravine then climbed quickly into the fray. He rushed an
approaching Dearthman, sliced him open and left him squirming and screaming.

Elgin called out for his men to join him. “Light. To me.”
Ekurn impelled Ardal with a shove to follow Elgin. As they arrived in the center
of the camp, a soldier crushed Cian’s left thigh with a steel-bound cudgel.
Elgin removed the man’s forearms and pursued the fleeing enemy captain.

Ardal broke clear of the skirmish and ran to the rear of the
camp where the horses were tethered. There, he found the enemy commander
cutting a horse free of the tether. As he ran toward him, he shouted for Elgin.

The enemy commander mounted, and Ardal tickled his ribs
with his blade. If he’d had a longsword, the commander would’ve been done; but his
reach was too short, and the Dearthman kicked him in the chest. He hit the
ground hard and scrambled out of the way just in time as Elgin pulled the horse
down by its bridle. The rider rolled free and Ardal kicked him hard in the
head.

Three enemy soldiers came to assist their commander. Elgin
ran toward them shouting over his shoulder, “Do him.” Ardal slid his blade in between
his adversary’s ribs and twisted it. The Dearthman spasmed wildly, and a gout
of blood shot from his mouth. Ardal ran to assist Elgin.

By the time he ran the twenty yards to where Elgin stood
against three men, one of them was screaming and retching on the ground while
he tried to hold his innards in his hands. A second was sitting on the ground
moaning and watching the blood pump rhythmically out of the stump of his leg. Elgin was trembling violently while he pressed his left hand over the gory
right side of his face and attempted to hold the third at bay with the severed
broadsword in his right hand. Ardal ran screaming at the soldier who menaced his
Captain. The invader broke and ran directly onto the pike of Ten Leader Hai who
had come up from behind him. Elgin fell to his knees.

Ardal knelt beside Elgin who was apparently mad with pain,
because his words made no sense. “Take to heart the head.”

Ardal attempted to calm him. “Relax, Captain…”

Elgin slapped him hard and gasped, “Take… the
head… to Hart.” He indicated the corpse of the enemy commander.

“Aye, Captain.” Ardal ran to take the head.

Hai knelt beside Elgin and attempted to pull his hand away
from his face. Elgin slapped his hand away. Elgin poked Hai in the chest with
his right forefinger. “Hai. Thirty Captain. Ekurn. Thirty Leader. Leave two for wounded. Take horses.
Ride to fight.” He blanched and shuddered then reared back to fix Hai with his
left eye. “Don’t look at me. Go.”

By the time he said, “Go,” Ardal was mounted on the enemy
commander’s horse with his naked blade in his right hand, the topknot of the
severed head in his left, and the reins in his teeth. He rode hard to the plain
guiding the horse with his knees. The signal arrow rose up from behind him and
passed over his head as if guiding him to the fight.

He heard the battle clash long before he saw aught. He rode
to outstrip the wind before him and so the wind behind could not catch him. As he
broke from the woodline into the open valley floor, he oriented on Heavy Foot’s
phalanx at the center of the plain.

The Dearthman warband was sore beset by Horse before while
Heavy mangled their flanks and rear as Horse turned them. Ardal rode directly
for Horse shouting for Hart.

Drawing nearer still, he could identify individual soldiers
and their feats. Each strove mightily goaded by Hart’s audacity. Repeatedly, he
drove in, wrecked men, withdrew, whirled, and drove in again. He was a
beautiful horror.

Finally, above the din, Hart heard Ardal call his name. Breaking
free of the mob, he rode to meet him. He pulled up close alongside so that Ardal
could have touched his mount’s heaving flank, and Ardal displayed his loathsome
offering.

The Captain grimaced and shuddered as he leaned across to
inspect the head of his enemy. Noting his pallor and that he bled freely from
numerous gashes, Ardal realized that what he had taken for revulsion had
instead been a disciplined response to severe pain.

“Well done, Ardal of the Avinn Vale. Much earlier than
expected. I did not note your signal arrow fly. Hold it securely.”

Ardal laid his
blade across his lap so he could hold the head with both hands. Hart shoved his
spear point beneath the chin, through the head, and into the brain cavity so
the head was firmly impaled at an angle of submission.

Hart handed Ardal the shaft and indicated that he should
follow then whirled his mount and charged into the fray. Securing his sword
with his right hand and lifting the speared head with his left, Ardal followed
closely with no idea of his commander's intent.

Hart drew up on the verge of the fight and indicated to Ardal
that he should hold his trophy high. He stood in his stirrups and, grasping the
butt, lifted the spear high above his head and rode twice about the writhing
mass screaming for them to look on him. The Tierasalan Captains and Leaders
took notice and drew their troops into a cordon about the invaders while the
Dearthmen pointed at Ardal and shouted unintelligibly.

By the time Ardal returned to Hart’s side, an uneasy truce
reigned on the field. He lowered the spear butt to rest on the toe of his boot. The severed head was on a level with Ardal’s. The first foot of the spear
shaft below the head was encased in congealed gore.

“Who speaks for the Dearthmen?” Hart wheezed at Ardal.

“Captain, I can’t know that.”

“You can if you ask them. Ardal, speak for me. My voice is
gone.”

Even then, Ardal did not realize how dire Hart’s condition
must be. “Aye, Captain. I will relay your words.”

“Nay, Ardal, use your words. Show them that their commander
is dead. Offer them food and drink, rest and shelter if they will lay down
their arms and come to the caer.”

The import of his message struck Ardal dumb. He wracked his
mind for words to end the blows. Hart urged him to move quickly. “Ardal, you
have their ears. Use them before they begin swinging blades out of boredom.”

Ardal nodded to his Captain and raised his voice. “Dearthmen,
who speaks for you?”

A high voice from within the crowd replied half-heartedly.
“He is dead.”

“Then you come represent your brothers.” Ardal scrutinized
the crowd for the man who had spoken.

“These pigs are not my brothers.” The man laughed then
swore. “Do not look shocked. They would say the same of me.”

Ardal located the speaker and allowed his gaze to settle on
him. “I am sorry to hear it. You do not strike me as a pig.”

The speaker shrugged. “What do you want?”

Ardal lifted his voice along with the spiked head to ensure
that all could see and hear even if they could not understand. “My Captain
offers you your lives in return for your weapons. What does your Captain
offer?”

The man raised his voice and addressed the Dearthmen in
their native tongue. A heated debate ensued. It raged until, prompted by a
gesture from Hart, Ardal shouted, “Decide.”

The spokesman shrugged and addressed his response to
Hundred Captain Hart. “I, for one, am willing to become your slave if it means
that I might live. Who knows? Perhaps my master will be gracious to me. Some
others agree with me. Still others ask if they might not return home.” He
scoffed. “Others yet have threatened to kill any and all who lay down their
arms. I, as I have said know that I am a slave in whatever country I live and
gratefully accept your offer.” He looked warily about at the Dearthmen who
surrounded him.

Ardal spoke again for Hart. “There will be no slaves.”

The spokesman bowed his head and spoke vehemently in his
own language words that sounded like curses. He raised his head enough to
glower from beneath his brows at Hart. “So, you will execute us.” He spat the
accusation as though it poisoned him.

“Nothing of that.” His misunderstanding shocked Ardal. “We will
take your arms, not your lives or your bodies. We are free men and have no use
for those who are not.”

“All who lay down their weapons will be conducted to the
caer as our guests and as surety against another attack by your countrymen. Any
man who does not, today, lay down his arms will himself be laid low.”

The spokesman relayed Ardal’s words to the Dearthmen. A
great racket ensued. Ardal allowed the discussion to continue until it seemed that
it might come to blows among the Dearthmen; then, he shouted for them to calm
themselves.

“Any who choose to live may come and stand to my left where
a contingent of our soldiers will accept your weapons and conduct you in safety
to the caer. All who choose otherwise will be cut down where you stand.”

The Dearthman warband began to unravel, and the newly
arrived Light Thirty mounted on their recently acquired horses dismounted to
receive weapons and to conduct their former enemies to the caer under the
command of acting Thirty Captain Hai. Ardal turned to observe and pulled
alongside Hart to request further guidance. He sat upright and rigid staring at
his mount’s ears with his mouth slightly open.

“Ardal gestured to Glendon, the Captain of Horse. He
came near and inclined his head as though to hear from his commander. He glanced
up at Ardal from under his brows. ‘He’s dead, you know?’

Ardal nodded. “Yes,
Captain. How do we return him to the caer and keep that knowledge from
spreading?”

Glendon considered
the import of Ardal’s question “Leave it to me, Soldier. Next chance, you’ll
have a dram on me.” He clapped his hand on Ardal’s shoulder then rode off to
confer with his Thirty Leader.

A few minutes
later, a Ten of Horse approached. Gerritt, the Ten Leader, casually walked his
horse alongside the Captain’s so that the toe of his left boot extending
through his stirrup connected with the heel of the Captain’s right boot.
Another mounted soldier did likewise on the Captain’s left. Two others galloped
back to the caer to prepare for his arrival. The six remaining horsemen rode
three before and three behind the Captain like the personal guard he had never
previously required.

All the while as
they walked their horses back to the caer, Gerritt carried on an animated
discussion with their dead Captain thereby maintaining the illusion of strength
that he had established. All in all, it was rather nicely done.

Ardal turned back to the field to find that nearly all of
the Dearthmen had surrendered to Light and were being herded toward the caer. His
soul welled up inside him at the wisdom of the fallen Captain that had turned
their doom on its head. Meanwhile, a small knot of no fewer than twenty
Dearthmen had formed a tight perimeter bristling with blades. The Heavy Foot
Thirty had surrounded them. They remained at a stalemate.

Ardal rode to the head of the ragged column making its way
to the caer then rode back looking at the faces of the Dearthmen who had
surrendered. When he found the spokesman, Ardal drew him up onto his horse and
rode hard for Heavy. As they rode, Ardal asked the interpreter why the holdouts
continued to resist.

The man’s immediate response was casual. “They are stupid
animals.”

“They are men just as you are a man. Are you not all Dearthmen?”
Ardal asked rhetorically.

The man scoffed then spat. “They call me their slave, yet
they haven’t the wits to recognize how that word applies to them.”

Ardal turned in the saddle to more clearly see the man, but
they had arrived at the standoff. “What sort of man are you, then?”

“I was ‘Partlan,’ a free man and scholar of The Bractlands.
That was before I became ‘Boom (the Owl),’ a slave with too many questions
according to my master.”

“Partlan, you are your only master, now. I hope to talk
more with you soon. For now, we have work to do.”

“Aye, Captain, with a will.” Partlan responded like a
Tierasalan.

Ardal dismounted, looked into Partlan’s clear blue eyes,
and explained to him that he was no captain but the least and poorest of the
High King’s soldiers. Partlan stared back doubtfully. Ardal clapped him on the
shoulder. “Come, my friend, we must end this travesty if we may.”

Ardal walked rapidly with his impaled head, naked blade and
disarmed enemy to the side of Hugh, the Thirty Captain of Heavy Foot,
and spoke his name. Without lifting his gaze from his trapped quarry, he told Ardal
to name his errand.

“It is
three-fold, Captain. First, Hundred Captain Hart is dead.”

Hugh scoffed. “I saw him ride to the caer.”

“A ruse,
Captain. I was there. Glendon, Captain of Horse, arranged to remove him from
the field without revealing that he had fallen.”

“A wise ruse.” Hugh
nodded but never looking away from the duty before him.

“As for my
second errand, Captain, it is to ask your leave to dispose of this repugnant
thing.” Ardal moved the spiked head into his field of view and noted the
revulsion on Hugh’s face.

“And why would
you trouble me with such a bothersome thing?”

“Forgive me,
Captain, but it seems to me that in the current situation, you must become our
acting Hundred Captain.”

Hugh nodded. “Perhaps,
but, as you see, I am otherwise engaged. Elgin will do for the now.”

“He is currently
unavailable, Captain.”

“Ah. Worse and
worse.” Hugh spared a glance to look on Ardal’s face. “I suppose you saw this
happen as well?”

Bitter regret
crept into Ardal’s voice as he explained that Elgin held off three men while he
fiddled with killing one.

The Captain
nodded in commiseration. “Go ye back to your swordbrothers, Lad, and do your
duty by them.”

“Aye, Captain,
only let me discharge my third duty here.” Ardal noted that the soldiers of
Hart’s Hundred who remained on the field had gathered in a loose perimeter
behind the tight one of the Heavy Thirty to observe and to support Heavy if the
need arose.

“Do so and leave
me to dispatch these stalwart foemen.” The Captain returned his baleful gaze the
recalcitrant adversaries.

“I have brought
you Partlan the Bractie to assist you in negotiating for the surrender of these
men.”

“Hart offered
them their options. They have chosen. We will execute. Take your Bractie to the
caer with the others.” The Captain spoke through clenched teeth.

A moment later, Hugh sighed and relented somewhat. “Truth, Lad. I have no
heart to murder such men. Gladly did I face them in battle, but the battle is
ended, and they are but desperate men who must lose their lives or their honor.
I would do the same if I stood where they do.”

Ardal considered
the situation for a moment. “Hundred Captain, may I have your leave to
negotiate with the foemen an honorable path to life for them?”

Hugh flicked an incredulous look at Ardal. “You might try.
You’ll no doubt fail, but you might try. It’d be a boon to at least make the
attempt. What’ll you say to them, I wonder.”

“I am uncertain, but I’ve an idea that Partlan will be
useful. I’ll draw their leader here so you may overhear the discussion and
offer your guidance.”

Hugh thought for a moment. “Not a place I’ve heard of, but
I will know it hereafter. Put your Bractie to it, Ardal. Find me a way through
this.”

“Aye, Captain.” Ardal turned to Partlan. “Call their leader
forward.”

The former slave stepped forward and raised his voice. Ardal
intently studied the response of the Dearthmen and noted that many of them
glanced toward a grizzled man who stood on the edge of their cluster. He
returned their glances furtively.

A young man in the center spoke up, and Partlan translated.
“And why should we allow you to butcher our chief when you should face him
instead blade to blade?”

Ardal stepped forward, thrust his blade into the soil,
raised his hands and turned about to show that he intended no treachery. Slowly,
he walked to the grizzled man he had observed communicating wordlessly with his
men. Partlan walked behind him.

When he finally stood before the older man, Ardal again
turned about to show that he bore no weapons. Ardal looked into his eyes and
extended his hand. After a long pause, the invader switched his sword to his
left hand and tentatively grasped Ardal’s hand then raised and lowered it slightly
a few times while maintaining Ardal’s gaze. When he released Ardal’s hand, Ardal
grasped his forearm in proper greeting. The Dearthman leader returned the
gesture. Ardal released his grip and stepped back.

The leader spoke, and Partlan relayed his question. “This
is a respite for parley, yes?”

Ardal agreed. “Only you and I will be unarmed. Neither will
surrender his weapon, both will leave them behind.”

Ardal gestured for the Dearthman to come toward him. The
enemy chieftain stepped forward and turned to address his soldiers. At his
words they looked about; then, one by one, they stood down.

Partlan and the man spoke; then, he handed his sword to a
man behind him and displayed his empty hands and turned about as Ardal had
done. He looked into Ardal’s face and made a sound he did not understand. It
sounded like a cough. Ardal looked quizzically at his translator. Partlan
explained. “It’s his name – Kaff.”

“What does it mean?”

Partlan sneered. “What does your name mean? It’s just the
sound someone makes when they want his attention.”

Partlan nodded. “In my home, as well, but his parents did
not give him this name. His master did.”

Ardal urged the enemy chieftain and the liberated slave to walk
with him to a position equidistant between the lines and directly before Hugh.
Once they were in position, he gestured to Kaff who began
to talk. Partlan focused on him for a long while nodding occasionally. He spoke
twice to Kaff who gave a lengthy response to each question. Ardal listened
intently and understood nothing.

After what seemed an eternity, Partlan turned to Ardal. “First,
they will not surrender. Second, they will die first. Third, you cannot take
their weapons from them.” The translator paused as though he expected a
response.

Ardal considered Partlan’s pronouncement. “Is that all he
said? You two talked quite a while. There must have been more.”

Partlan sighed and shrugged with his palms up. “He is a
Dearthman. They are prone to flowery prose when a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will
suffice. There was, however, another bit, but it was mostly nonsense, talking
in circles. He said that they were sworn to the death to serve their master. He
is now dead, and you seem to be the man who killed him. I believe that he might
be indicating that they will die before they surrender…”

“Aye, Partie, I believe I got that bit.” Ardal fumed.

Partlan repeated the words pedantically. “I believe that he
might be indicating that they will die before they surrender, but there might
be another way. They took an oath that imperils the spirits of their families.
The oath was to serve their master or his successor unto death. He did note,
however, based upon the evidence you carry that their master is now dead
without an appointed successor.”

Ardal looked over his shoulder to where the Captain stood
listening. “Captain? What shall I say here?”

“So, they keep their lives, their arms, and their honor by
transferring the onus of their oath to a new master?” The Captain screwed his
face up in aggravated contemplation for a long while then finally decided. “Tell
them I accept, and let’s get back to the caer.”

Ardal nodded at Partlan indicating that he should translate
the Captain’s words. After another intense conversation with Kaff, Partlan
turned to Ardal disconcerted. “He says they will not merely join your army.
That is surrender. They will, here and now, swear service to their new master,
or they will fight to the death… And the new master must be the one who
defeated the old one.”

Ardal glanced from Partlan to Hugh and then to Kaff. “Elgin
was responsible for the mission to destroy the enemy leadership. When he is
able, I am certain that he will attend to this matter.”

The Captain’s exasperation was evident in his voice. “Elgin,
if you remember, did not take the commander’s life. You did, and you bear his
head. More importantly for the current circumstances, you are here. Accept
their oath, and be done. We will work out how to handle the situation once we
arrive at the caer. Only let us go there soon.”

Ardal glared at Hugh. “Captain, I’ll have no man take such
an oath to me.”

Hugh’s voice took on an edge. “Soldier, you will do as your
Captain orders you and take the oaths of any of these men who offer it. Then,
you will take the lives of any who refuse. Understand that their wise leader
has divined a way for them to live, retain their honor and protect the spirits
of their families. You will honor his wisdom.”

Ardal bowed his head at the disgrace of the thing wondering
what had happened to corrupt the sovereignty of these men so that they allowed
it to be turned against them. He lifted the impaled head of their former master
above his head and raised his voice so all could hear even if they couldn’t
understand. “If you will offer me your oath, I will accept it; and you will
retain your arms in my service.”

Partlan spoke to Kaff who then turned and shouted to his
assembled men. All but two of them kneeled. Kaff stared at the two young men
horrified. He shouted in a commanding tone at them. One shouted back defiant.
The other pled with tears gesturing for Kaff to join them. Kaff shouted again.
Both looked away from him - one stoic, the other weeping freely.

“Kaff faced about rigidly with tears standing in his eyes
and muttered under his breath. Partlan translated. “The proud fools will lose
their heads.”

“I don’t believe he meant for that to be translated,
Partlan. Tell him
to make the vow and be done. I’ve no stomach for more of this.”

Partlan made a “get on with it gesture” toward Kaff who
then kneeled before Ardal and laid his sword on the ground before him. All of his
men except the two defiant ones followed suit. They bowed to the ground
touching their foreheads to their blades and intoning a monotonous chant. After
prostrating themselves three times, they remained kneeling. Kaff murmured from
his kneeling position, and Partlan translated. “They are waiting for you to
accept their vow and allow them to rise.”

Ardal looked back toward the Captain who gave him the same
signal that Partlan had given Kaff. “I gratefully accept your offer of
service.” Ardal spoke feebly with Partlan translating. “Please rise and join us
in the caer.”

Twenty-two Dearthmen including Kaff rose. Ardal told him to
bring the two dissenters forward. He nodded slowly and turned to fetch them.
After a few paces, he turned back and asked if Ardal might not consider a
substitution. He almost begged him to accept his own head in the place of those
of the two recalcitrant Dearthmen. At first, Ardal was dismayed; then, he
realized that the dissenters were his sons.

“Bring them to me.” Ardal’s command was unequivocal. Kaff nodded
and staggered away.

Partlan sneered. “Congratulations. You now own two tens of
slaves. So are fortunes built.”

Ardal glared his contempt at Partlan. “I’ll have no fortune
built on the sweat of other men.”

Kaff and the two dissenters approached. The first was
defiant and angry. He stood directly before Ardal so close he could hear him
breathe. Suddenly, the prisoner’s hand snaked out and backhanded Ardal across
the cheek. It brought tears to his eyes. Partlan and Kaff both grabbed
the boy, and Kaff bloodied his lips with a slap.

The second boy seemed younger and frightened rather than
angry but just as determined as his brother. He said something to his father
that sounded like a reproach. Kaff merely looked into the boy’s eyes then
turned and kneeled. He looked up at Ardal once with his head thrown back and
his arms spread wide, then, threw himself forward babbling rapidly and very
quietly while grasping Ardal’s ankles and bobbing his head so that his forehead
repeatedly struck the tops of Ardal’s feet.

Ardal reached down and touched the top of Kaff’s head to
make him stop. Kaff sobbed loudly, moaned, and raised his face streaked with tears,
snot, spit, dust, and blood. After a moment, he began rocking on his heels,
howling unintelligibly, and tossing dust into the air while his sons stood
looking down on him in loathing.

Ardal looked to Partlan for an explanation. “He keeps
repeating the same words. ‘Take my head. Take my head.’”

Ardal stepped away from Kaff and asked him with Partlan
translating to go and bring the sword which he had left stuck in the ground
near Hugh. Kaff rose laboriously and shuffled over to it. Ardal asked
the Captain to loan him four stout lads to place the sons of Kaff into
submission. Kaff turned with the sword in his hand and saw each of his sons
held in the kneeling position by two men. He dropped the sword and ran to throw
himself across their necks sobbing and shouting. Partlan informed Ardal that
Kaff shouted, “Mercy, my lord.”

Ardal retrieved his
discarded blade then directed Kaff to kneel facing his sons. He addressed the
sons with Partlan translating. “Today, you have earned death. Not because you
fought against us. Not because you kept your oath. Because you despised your
father, you have earned the death sentence that I am prepared to execute upon
you.” He raised the sword above the exposed neck of the older boy and slowly
brought it down on the back of his neck then drew it lightly so that it merely
broke the skin. “Your head belongs to me.”

The prisoner shouted
and Partlan translated. “You are weak.” Ardal slapped the back of the
prisoner’s head with the flat of his blade, and the prisoner slumped forward.
The two men who had held him trussed him onto the back of one of the captured
horses.

Ardal stepped
over to the other boy, raised his sword and told the lad that he had earned a
death sentence by despising his father. The prisoner agreed. “It were better
had I called down utter destruction on myself and let no other man –especially
this man – bear it for me. Take my head.”

Ardal laid the
blade across the back of his neck and drew it toward himself until a trickle of
blood appeared. “Your head is mine. I may claim it at will for any or no reason
at all.” The boy nodded and sobbed.

Ardal then stood
beside Kaff and raised the sword. “I spared your sons’ lives, Kaff. They are
mine to do with as I will.”

Kaff’s
countenance was serene. “Take my head. I gladly give it because you have saved
their lives.”

“Your head is
mine, Kaff. You took a vow to serve me. You cannot offer me what is already
mine.” Ardal waited a long while for his response.

Lydia Walters:
I really enjoyed this novel. It gives us a view of what could be if we really tried.Also that there's nothing wrong with loving our LORD and our fellow humans. couldn't wait to get to each new chapter (mission). Thanks, Joe!

David Ramati:
I can easily identify with the characters as having gone through those terrible times myself. The writer has skillfully brought yet another side of those days to life. A good read which I recommend to everyone.

Aditya Harikrish:
It had me on tenterhooks since the very first page. Excllently developed plot and characters. You've done an amazing job of building a fantasy world from scratch. Hats off to you!A sequel is a must.

Kevin Brand:
My overall rating: 4.8/5 starsLoved. Every. Second. Everytime I came back to continue reading I got this overwhelming feeling of getting hooked on the first sentence... Over and over and again!The only things that were missing for me include more descriptions on what happens when Reuben touches s...

nehmeyasmin:
It was the most heart warming but heart breaking story ever and I want the next part right away. It kept me hooked until the end even though there were a couple mistakes it was truly amazing. I think this book could go far if it wanted to

Other Collections

About Us:

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.